


pure pillow-print cheek

by ohvictor



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, References to Depression, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25396552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: Juza wakes up, overheating, to find Settsu wrapped around him.
Relationships: Hyoudou Juuza/Nanao Taichi/Settsu Banri, Hyoudou Juuza/Settsu Banri
Comments: 2
Kudos: 127





	pure pillow-print cheek

**Author's Note:**

> every bantaiju i write is a poorly-concealed homage to [archie's work](https://archiveofourown.org/users/assortedwords/pseuds/assortedwords), and this is no exception. taichi's not physically in this fic (sorry taichi), but he is a part of the relationship and juza references him multiple times. 
> 
> title is a line from kindling (fickle flame) by elbow. yes i already titled a fic after that song no i don't care

Juza wakes up at six in the morning feeling like he was placed in an oven. He's struggling under the sheets before he's pried his eyes open, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that what's captured him isn't bedsheets but arms, legs. He blinks in the half-light of his bedroom, the rising sun not yet bright enough for vision, and finds Settsu's limbs tangled tight around him. 

"Oi," he mutters, delivering a deftly aimed elbow to Settsu's belly. "You're too warm." 

Settsu doesn't stir. He's also _way_ heavier than he should be, even considering he's asleep and essentially a dead weight. Juza elbows him again, expecting one of Settsu's usual groans about how sharp Juza's elbows are, but Settsu just mumbles something and snuggles closer, trapping Juza securely in place. 

He's so warm, Juza can hardly breathe. This close, he can see the dark hairs creeping up Settsu's neckline, and a hint of lighter skin under the propped-up collar of his sleep shirt. Hesitant, Juza presses his face against Settsu's neck, feels the impossible warmth of Settsu's skin against his lips. The action makes his face burn even hotter, and that's not what he wants right now. He wants a cool drink, or a gentle morning breeze, or a deep breath of air that doesn't smell overwhelmingly like Settsu. 

But Settsu isn't budging, so Juza resigns himself to laying here trapped, listening to the steady, slow breathing from Settsu's lungs, and at some point, he falls back asleep.

When he wakes again, the room is awash with daylight, and Settsu is still tangled around him. The vice grip of his limbs around Juza has not lessened with sleep, nor has the warmth emanating from him. Juza lays there half-under him until his stomach growls a warning, and then he attempts again to escape. 

An elbow to Settsu's stomach does nothing. A gentle shove of Juza's shoulder to Settsu's sternum achieves the same lack of result. Juza sighs. He's not frustrated, exactly, but he is restless, his body stiff and sweaty, and he wants to get up and start his day. At the same time, he doesn’t want to be rough with Settsu—doesn’t want to wake Settsu up into a bad mood. So he pushes Settsu’s shoulder, again, and clears his throat, testing his voice. 

“Settsu,” he mutters, his mouth right next to Settsu’s ear. “Wake up.”

As if Juza uttered some magic words, Settsu moves. His limbs tighten awkwardly around Juza, and he stretches out his back, the arch of his spine catlike. When he’s finished, he buries his face in Juza’s shoulder, and that’s how Juza knows Settsu isn’t really _awake_ -awake. He can also feel Settsu’s eyes against his neck, still closed, but that’s beside the point. 

“Settsu,” Juza says again. The word comes out unbearably fond, and he clears his throat harder and tries again. “I want to get up.”

Settsu’s breathing is no longer the steady push-pull that had lulled Juza back to sleep in the early morning. He's pretending it is, though, which suggests he’s waking up properly. Juza can’t help but reach up and touch the back of Settsu’s head, feeling his soft hair between his fingers. Settsu’s hair is sweaty and a little tangled, but somehow it’ll look immaculate when he steps out of the bedroom. Always does. Juza butts the side of his head against Settsu’s. “Settsu.”

“What,” Settsu groans, and, damn it, Juza might have failed in his attempt to wake him gently. 

Maybe he can be diplomatic about this. “I’m hungry.” A beat. “Let me up.”

“Mmm,” Settsu responds. 

“You can get up too,” Juza reminds him. 

Settsu doesn’t answer. His mouth, pressed against the side of Juza’s neck, twists in what Juza imagines is a pretty frown.

“Don’t wanna,” he mutters.

It occurs to Juza that it might be a day like _that_ for Settsu. Usually on days like that, Juza and Taichi give Settsu his space, and eventually the three of them meld back together in Settsu’s bed. Sometimes with tears. Usually, though, Juza isn’t _already_ melded to Settsu. He has things to do today. Homework to attempt, Taichi to kiss. He doesn’t even know what time it is, except that it’s certainly time to get up. 

“Will you let me up,” Juza tries, and he’s trying really hard to sound gentle, and to his own ears he’s not succeeding at all, “and I’ll come back later, and.” This is embarrassing, but Settsu’s already claimed burying-face-in-partner’s-neck privileges, so Juza will just have to say it into the air, comforted only a little by the fact that Settsu can’t see him. “I’ll cuddle you as much as you want, then.”

Settsu huffs, a bare-bones laugh, and nuzzles closer. He's still so warm, as if his body is trying to melt into the bed. His arms tighten around Juza like he doesn’t want to let go, and for a moment Juza doesn’t even _want_ to get up anymore. Food can wait; homework can wait; Taichi can’t really wait, but if they wait long enough Taichi will just come to them, so it’ll work out anyway. But then Settsu’s hold on Juza loosens, his arms falling away, and Settsu rolls over onto his other side, curling into himself. 

“Go,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with impending sleep. 

Juza loves him. He loves the Settsu that clings to him until he’s overheating, and he loves the Settsu that seeks out comfort when his inhibitions are lowered, and he loves the Settsu that listens when Juza needs him to, and he loves the Settsu that asks for what _he_ needs too. He loves Settsu, every Settsu, this Settsu, curled into a warm ball in his bed.

This time, kissing the nape of Settsu’s neck where the dark hair trails down to meet his spine is easy as breathing. Juza lingers, presses another kiss, and then sits up, combing his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to make it presentable. Settsu’s hair frames his face where his head rests on the pillow, brown strands curling on his cheeks. 

Juza wrenches his gaze away and climbs over Settsu to reach the ladder down from the bed. By the time his feet hit the floor, his thoughts have strayed, to what he might have for breakfast, how fast he might be able to find Taichi in the dorms. 

Up in the bed, Settsu dreams, the rise and fall of his chest steady once more. 


End file.
